


Do Our Best To Recreate

by prouvairablehulk



Series: The Queer Walrus Variations [4]
Category: Black Sails
Genre: M/M, charlestown rewrite but gayer, this is so far from historically accurate it's not even funny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 10:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouvairablehulk/pseuds/prouvairablehulk
Summary: “I suppose there's my answer.” says James. “Even in this moment, alone with a condemned man, you are unable to speak the truth.”“Governor!” calls the Vice Admiral, and Peter stands.“Thomas Hamilton is alive, in Savannah.” he says, and walks away.





	Do Our Best To Recreate

James Flint is currently wearing far more chains than it is necessary for a man in his position to be wearing. His position, it is worth knowing, is on a dias in the middle of the town square, facing a jury of men who are posed to kill him as quickly as possible after handing down a guilty verdict as soon as possible. 

Were this same position any less precarious, James would be asking which of the jury members had a vested interest in seeing him in such a situation, and what is was they planned to do with it. 

There’s a town crier busily reminding everyone that they hate him, which James has tuned out in favor of studying the faces of passers-by, when the sound of boots on wood suggests that he will soon have company. 

“I meant what I said earlier.” says Peter, and James pointedly refuses to make eye contact. “This outcome, it's not at all what I would have wanted.”

Peter waits, expecting a response. James doesn’t give him one. Peter sighs through his teeth, and gestures with his chin towards the man who will prosecute James. 

“Vice Admiral Lord Kensington. I don't need to explain to you his interest in achieving the greatest possible exposure for this proceeding.”

 

James fights the urge to roll his eyes. 

“He's going to put on a show, and once it begins, I fear I will not be able to control where it goes.” says Peter, and then his eyes shoot sideways, as though ensuring there is no one to overhear them. “Unless you give me what I need to stop it.”

Now, this is interesting. James looks up. 

 

“Sign a confession for crimes that you have already tacitly admitted to me anyway. I'll see this process stopped, the sentence will be carried out quietly, privately tomorrow. Spare yourself the humiliation.”

The deal is less of an incentive than Peter seems to think it is, and James is ready to tell him to fuck right off, with those exact words, when Peter stops him cold. 

 

“Spare her.” he says, and James follows his eyes to the pine box being carried across the square. 

 

“I'll see she's interred with proper respect, her name clear. Let her go to her rest peacefully. You cannot tell me that isn't what she would have wanted.” 

James is going to be sick. 

“She was clear about what she wanted and I don't think it had anything to do with begging your forgiveness.” he tells Peter. 

“What she wanted was the truth to be known.” Peter wheedles, and james wonders if this is how the Lords Peter had attempted to persuade all those years ago felt when he did it, like you were having oil poured over you and you were both pretending it smelt like honey. 

“What was the truth of it, my lord?” James asks. “Why did you betray those closest to you all those years ago? Was it really so small and vile as a bribe?”

Peter looks away. 

“The promise of lording over other men in this place? Or were you simply too weak to say no? Too cowardly to do the harder thing and preserve your decency?” James accuses, eyes as hard as his namesake. 

“Tell me it was the latter. Tell me this is all happening because of your cowardice.”

Peter still isn’t looking at him. 

“I could accept that. I might forgive that.” James says, pressing for an admission of something, of anything. 

The silence stretches out before them. 

“I suppose there's my answer.” says James. “Even in this moment, alone with a condemned man, you are unable to speak the truth.”

“Governor!” calls the Vice Admiral, and Peter stands. 

“Thomas Hamilton is alive, in Savannah.” he says, and walks away. 

James suddenly can’t see anything further away than the planks at the toes of his boots, and he can only breathe as though there were a millstone on his chest, and it takes him a very long time to calm down. He hates feeling like that, but he’s absurdly grateful for it when he sees what they’ve done to Miranda’s body in his temporary absence. 

***

“Affidavits given by sailors on ships you attacked.” says the Vice Admiral, dropping the stack of documents, tied with twine, onto the table at James’ right. “Testimonials of widows and orphans rendered into that state by your actions. And these are insurance petitions for the loss or destruction of property, again caused by your hand.”

James looks over at the pile, a sizeable haul, and smothers a smirk. All of this, all these damages inflicted, in the name of vengeance for a love he now knows still lives. They must have moved Thomas when they told James he was dead - the lie a means of ensuring that Captain Flint’s power couldn’t steal him away. 

 

“You stand before this court accused of wreaking untold havoc throughout the New World, of clawing at the very fabric of civilization that holds us together with malice and without regret.” says the Vice Admiral, dragging James from his thoughts. “Do you dispute this? Do you have any response to these allegations at all? This forum is your opportunity to be heard. And the world is listening.”

He says this last with a flourish that sets James’ teeth on edge, and he refuses to answer on principle. 

 

“Deny.” says the Vice Admiral. James looks at Peter and keeps his mouth shut, for Miranda and her rage. 

 

“Repent.” says the Vice Admiral, and James looks at Peter and keeps his mouth shut for Thomas and his life. 

“No one else is going to speak on your behalf.” says the Vice Admiral, and James looks at Peter and keeps his mouth shut for John Silver and his roguish smile and the cunning mind James could come to love. 

“Will you say nothing in your own defense?” says the Vice Admiral, and James looks at Peter and keeps his mouth shut for his crew in the bay and their loyalty. 

“You see? These crimes are so vile that even their perpetrator is struck dumb when given a chance to speak.” says the Vice Admiral, and that is the one thing James cannot let stand. He cannot let them think he regrets this. 

“I have one regret.” he says. “I regret ever coming to this place with the assumption that a reconciliation could be found, that reason could be a bridge between us.” 

James looks back at Peter and pushes all his anger into his eyes. 

 

“Everyone is a monster to someone.” James says, keeping his tone measured. “Since you are so convinced that I am yours, I will be it.” 

There’s a gasp from the crowd, and then a general disturbance as a group of soldiers come marching up from the shore. 

 

“Sir! Sir!” calls the one in the lead. 

“What's going on? Who is this man?” demands the Vice Admiral. 

“He says his name is Charles Vane, my lord.” says the soldier, and James spins in his chair to see Charles, back straight, head unbowed, standing at his right. 

 

“Charles Vane? What, and you captured him?” scoffs Peter 

“He turned himself over, my lord.” says the soldier, and James can feel his mouth moving soundlessly in confusion. 

“I came to offer testimony in defense of Captain Flint. It is his right, is it not?” says Charles, and James doesn’t know whether he wants to kill him or kiss him first.” 

“He was carrying this.” says the soldier, and offers Peter a book James recognizes. 

“If you are who you say you are, why would anybody consider you a credible character witness?” says Peter, and James suddenly knows exactly where this is going. 

“It isn't my testimony I came to offer.” says Charles. “It's your daughter's.”

Peter’s look of betrayal is instant, and both James and Charles recognize it for what it is.

“I will not stand for such slander.” says Peter.

The men at arms swing into action, leveling their guns. James is very aware they need another delaying tactic. 

“I’ll do it.” he says, surging to his feet. “I’ll give you the confession.”

“Flint -” says Charles, low, urgent. 

“I’ll give it to you.” James promises, trying to force the educated accent he’d deliberately forgotten back into his voice. 

“James.” says Charles, in that same desperate tone, and there’s another surge of whispers at the use of his first name. 

“Bring him here, and let Charles go, and I’ll give you the confession, here and now.”

“Let Charles Vane go?” says the Vice Admiral. “Everyone knows that you despise each other.”

James looks at Charles. Charles looks at James. 

“I have been persuaded that Captain Vane has some - admirable qualities that ought to be preserved.” says James, and Charles laughs, sudden and abrupt, like it was punched out of him. 

“Give us the confession,” says the Vice Admiral, “and then we will consider releasing Captain Vane.” 

On the jury’s platform, Peter starts spluttering, and insists on the Vice Admiral meeting him in private. 

***

“So, what is this confession you’re going to give?” asks Charles, after he’s been shackled and seated next to James. 

“Peter wanted me to tell them everything.” says James. “I have a suspicion that he wants an edited version of everything, but he’s not going to get it.” 

Charles makes a sound that might have been laughter under less stressful circumstances. 

“And I will finally understand what made James Captain Flint.” he says, almost thoughtful. 

“You will.” says James. “If I do anything, will you be willing to work with me?”

“If it means we both make it out alive.” says Charles, with a lopsided grin. “We don’t need much more time.”

“Which reminds me, what the fuck are you doing here?” says James.

“Came to take your ship.” says Charles, with a shrug. “Stayed to get you out of all this. Figured if anyone was going to make a trophy of you, it really ought to be me.”

James grins at that.

“So I’m to be a trophy, now?”

“You were a trophy as soon as you told the entirety of Eleanor’s tavern that I’d fucked you.” says Charles, with his signature brutal honesty. “Wouldn’t mind doing that again, in case that was unclear.”

 

“So this was your plan? Walk in here and have them read a girl's diary?”

“More or less.” says Charles, in a way that means ‘definitely less’.

 

“I see.” says James, feeling on more solid ground now he’s in on the double-cross, his favorite place to be. “So now you have everyone's eyes where you want them, on the two of us, what happens next?”

Charles grins again.

“When it happens, you have to come with me, straight to the jetty.”

“They're all trying so hard to convince themselves that they have nothing to be afraid of.  
How is running going to change that?” says James.

Charles leans in.

“What do you suggest?” 

“That we remind them that they were right to be afraid.” says James, and then the Vice Admiral is back. 

“Captain Flint, you said you would give us a confession in exchange for Captain Vane’s freedom, and for someone to be brought to Charlestown. Who was it you were asking for?”

“That will be made clear as I give this confession.” says James, and he sees Charles sits up a little straighter out of the corner of his eye. 

“Then by all means, begin.” prompts the Vice Admiral.

“My name is James McGraw.” says James, “and I was a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Navy.”

The crowd is shocked, and so is Charles, which is oddly gratifying. 

“I was assigned as a liaison to Lord Thomas Hamilton, who was to be the next governor of New Providence Island, and as a result of his controversial political ideas, I was exiled.” 

Peter, in the gallery, looks furious. 

“That’s not the truth.” he yells. “That’s not the truth, and you know it.”

“Want me to try again, Peter?” James says, pitching his voice to carry further. There’s some shock at the familiarity James is using, some louder muttering. 

“Tell them the truth, James.”

“My name is James McGraw,” says James, “and I was a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Navy. I was assigned as a liaison to Lord Thomas Hamilton, the next governor of New Providence Island, and I was exiled because I had an affair with his wife, who you had shot in the head last night. Is that the truth you like best, Peter?”

There are gasps now. Charles looks confused. 

“But -” says Charles. 

“Not now, Charles.” says James, at that same pitch, the voice he used to sell his crew on hunting the Urca. “I have a point to prove.”

“What point?” says Charles. 

“That both of those stories are lies.” says James. 

“James -” says Peter, suddenly afraid. 

“Shall we go for the honest truth, the one without varnish or censorship?” says James. “Are you willing to have that out in the open?”

“James-” says Peter, again.

“My name,” says James, rising to his feet, “is James McGraw, and I was a lieutenant in His Majesty’s Navy. I was assigned as a liaison to Lord Thomas Hamilton, the next governor of New Providence Island, and I was exiled because your Lord Governor, Peter Ashe, sold me out for a clock and his title.” 

“Sold you out?” asks the Vice Admiral. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Thomas’ father, the Earl of Ashburne, wanted to ensure Thomas’ plan could not pass. He was looking for a means to do so, and in exchange for power, Lord Ashe there gave him the information he needed.”

“And what was that information?” asks the Vice Admiral, looking shocked. 

“That I was having an affair.” says James, and then he pauses for dramatic effect just because he can. 

“James -” says Peter, horrified, as though it will stop him. 

“With Lord Thomas Hamilton.”

The crowd erupts, and James sits back down. 

“Damn.” says Charles, amidst the chaos. “Is that why you never -” 

“He is my everything.” says James, relieved at being honest for the first time in a long time. “And Peter told me today that he lives still.”

Charles looks like the light is breaking behind his eyes. 

“We’re getting out of here.” he says. “I promise I will get you out of here, so you can go to him.”

“Thank you.” says James, and they look at each other for a moment longer while the crowd quietens. 

“That’s impossible.” says the Vice Admiral. “There is no way that someone with that sort of - perversion - could have done what you did.”

Charles rolls his eyes. 

“Right then.” says James. “Time for a practical demonstration.”

The lack of any shackles beyond the ones on his hands makes it easy to stand up and swing a leg over Charles’ lap. 

“Work with me, here.” says James. 

“Fucking -” says Charles, and then fists his hands in the front of James’ shirt and tugs when James bites down on his bottom lip. 

It takes a good minute before they’re pulled apart.

“What about Silver?” says Charles, in the shocked silence. “I thought you and he -”

“We’re not married, Charles.” says James. “We’ve only fucked a couple of times.”

“I’ve seen you two, you’re definitely married.” says Charles. “Am I going to have to worry about him trying to kill me again?”

“Again?” 

“He almost stabbed me once already.” 

“Good for Silver.”

“You’re an ass. You two deserve each other.”

James grins. He’s never felt more alive. There’s a difference between saying what he is in Nassau, or on the Walrus, and saying it here. It’s like he’s finally opened up a part of himself that had been shut away for too long. He feels like he’s flying. 

“Not to say I wouldn’t be up for joining in.” says Charles, a leer on his face. “Does he scream as much as he looks like he should?”

“He really does.” says James. “And I’ll think about it.”

Charles gets to his feet.

“These men convinced you that they speak for you.” he tells the crowd. He’s a terrific public speaker, James has to admit. “That the power you've given them is used in your interests. That the prisoner before you is your enemy and they your friends.” 

“Mister McGraw!” comes a cry from the crowd, and James can see Abigail pushing her way to the side of the dias with a sheath of papers clutched in her hand. 

“For those of you who live to see tomorrow know that you had a choice to see the truth and you let yourselves be convinced otherwise.” says Charles, and he raises his hands over his head, and drops them. 

James has launched himself off the side of the dias and in front of Abigail before the first cannon is fired. 

“James, come on, let’s go!” Charles yells, already swinging a stolen sword. 

“Go with Captain Vane, Abigail.” says James. 

“Are you going to kill my father?” asks Abigail, and they are thrown off their feet by another blast.

“Go!” insist James, pushing at her shoulders. 

She does. 

Peter, on the other hand, tries to beg James for his life, and the noise he makes when James runs him through, weak and gasping, is the most satisfying thing James has heard all day. 

He turns Peter’s face so he’s looking at Miranda, still propped up in her coffin. 

“Her word will be the last word for this place.” he says. “And if you live through this, know that Thomas and I will be coming.”

“James, we’ve got to go!” yells Charles, and this time it’s clear that they really have no other option. James runs, and Charles runs, and between them Abigail runs, and by the time they make it to the jetty they’ve killed more men than James took time to count, freed a cage full of slaves, and managed to avoid being wounded. 

The men at the jetty look horrified when they are ordered to fire on James and Charles in their little rowboat, Abigail perched on the second bench seat. They look terrified when the warship emerges from the fog and blows the jetty to smithereens. 

“A bit of turmoil since you left.” Billy says, leveling his gun at Charles when Charles climbs over the rail. “But it’s under control now.” 

James looks down at the men under guard, thinks of himself in chains on that dias, thinks of the battle they have created, he and Charles, together. 

“Release those men.” he tells Billy. 

“What?” says Billy, alarmed. “Captain.”

“I will not hold pirates prisoner on this ship, not after today.”

He looks back at Charles, who is smiling faintly, and Abigail who is looking out over the still-smoking wreck of the city. 

“Keep your men in line.” he says, and Charles throws him a mocking attempt at a Navy salute, lopsided grin reappearing. 

“Are we leaving?” asks Abigail.

“Yes.” says James. 

“Lady Hamilton said she wanted to see the city burn.” says Abigail, eyes still fixed on a collapsing church tower. 

Charles looks proud, and then looks at James. 

“Will we not burn it?” asks Abigail, turning to face him at last.

“Someone was meant to be a pirate.” says Charles. 

“She’s mine.” says James. “One of us.” 

“I’m one of yours, too.” says Charles, and James doesn’t know what to make of that particular statement. 

James looks down to the lower deck, and then calls for a full complement of guns, and tells them to aim at anything left standing. 

It’s only when they’ve started to sail away that Charles asks the question. 

“Are we going to Savannah?” 

“Why the fuck would we go to Savannah?” asks Billy. 

“The love of Flint’s life is in Savannah.” says Charles, and Billy chokes on his water. 

“I thought you said your Thomas was dead.” says De Groot.

“I thought he was. I only found out today that he still lives.” 

James looks around, expecting an interjection from Silver and not hearing it. 

“Where’s Silver?”

There’s silence, for a moment, before they tell him.

That night, sits on the quarterdeck alone, and cries, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide it, even when Charles sits next to him, silent, for a bell, two bells, three. 

***

The first time John Silver wakes up for more than a few seconds, Billy is sitting next him. 

“Where are we?” John asks, immediately. 

“We’re headed back to Nassau to resupply. Captain Flint and Captain Vane have plans to go raiding up and down the shore so that our strike on Savannah will not seem unusual.” Billy tells him. “Here, drink something.”

John gulps down a few mouthfuls. 

“Why are we going to Savannah?”

“Because the love of the Captain’s life is there.” says Billy. “Sleep now, you need the rest.”

What John needs is answers, but he sleeps anyway. 

The second time John wakes, it’s to Flint, alive, sitting at his desk. He hadn’t realized he was in the Captain’s cabin the last time he woke, but considering he’d passed out in Howell’s surgery, Flint must have ordered him brought here.

“Where are we?” he asks again. Flint tells him. Flint tells him a lot of things, none of which are his priority to know. Flint tells him he’s the quartermaster, and to act surprised when the men tell him. John tells him that the information about the gold is in the hands of Max and Rackham, and Flint, while upset, is not angry in the way John was expecting. 

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” he tells John. “We’ve got other things to worry about first.”

“Like the love of your life?” says John. “Billy says he’s in Savannah.”

James sits down on the edge of the window seat and takes one of John’s hands in both of his. 

“One of.” he says, and his eyes are smiling for the first time since John has known him. “One of the loves of my life is in Savannah.” 

John looks down at their hands, and then back up at James. 

Just in case his point hadn’t been sufficiently made, James speaks again. 

“The other one is right here.”


End file.
